


Invisible Strings

by general_ginger



Series: The Beginning, The End, And Everything In Between [3]
Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Billy Russo Has Feelings, M/M, Mild Blood, Suppressed Feelings, too bad he doesn't know how to deal with them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 19:16:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18239123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/general_ginger/pseuds/general_ginger
Summary: Weeks away from leaving the military for good, Billy realises that there is more tying him and Frank together than their casual intimate encounters.





	Invisible Strings

"—an' then he dove face-first into the barbed wire! Took us, dunno, an hour to cut the poor kid free. Not that he was severely hurt or anything, truly a wonder given his state of undress, but the look on his face! Like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar."

Billy watched as Frank doubled over laughing when Curtis finished his graphic rendition of the rookie's antics, a warm, fuzzy feeling settling in his stomach. Must be the cheap yet strong beer, he told himself. Or the canteen food because fuck, that stuff was nasty enough that it couldn't technically be called food anymore, and half of their team had already been down with a stomach bug over the past month from it.

It certainly wasn't because of the way Frank turned towards him to push another beer his direction, a lopsided smile on his lips, beaming like a miniature sun.

"God, 'm so glad you were a model recruit, Bill. Would've been distracting cuttin' your buck-naked ass loose from that."

The alcohol, Billy mused. Of course that's why his cheeks heated up.

And why, when Frank slapped a hand on his shoulder amicably, he found himself leaning the faintest bit closer to savour the warmth radiating from his palm.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, when they left the bar while the rest of their squad stayed behind, Frank wrapped an arm around his waist for support, staggering along on his way back to base. Not the first time Billy had to drag him along, probably not the last; but this time, the taller brunette found himself unwilling to complain. The mild evening had turned into a cool night with the wind picking up, rustling stray paper along the cobblestones, but with Frank's bulk pressed up against his side like a walking furnace, Billy found himself buzzing with a comfortable warmth.

"Remember how you arrived on base?" Castle brought his attention back to the topic of the evening—the poor, clueless newbies that had joined base little more than a week ago and now provided them with more than enough material for gossip. Russo nodded, not like Frank actually expected a reply. Of course he remembered. He wished he didn't.

"Fuck, I was smitten. Never seen anybody look so damn handsome in those stupid ugly-ass fatigues. You were wearin' your aviators—y’know, the ones I broke that same day—lookin’ like you stepped from some glossy magazine, not the fuckin' supply chopper."

What Frank didn't know's that Billy remembered spotting him, as well, how he stood there with the crate he was meant to carry, openly squinting at him in the heat because of course that idiot didn't wear any sunglasses in the blazing sun. Remembered thinking, not this. Not again. Never again.

But Castle had turned out not as much as a Neanderthal as he looked like, with his broad jaw and broken nose and cocky grin. In fact, he'd turned out to be the compassionate one of their squad (until Curtis showed up and snatched that title away from him), the one who had cheered him on through his initiation, had held the bucket and sympathetically petted his hair when he caught that first stupid stomach bug from the nasty nutrition rations. The one who'd broken Rockwell's cheekbone and wrist when he'd walked in on him cornering Bill behind the lavatories.

There was that warmth again, chasing the night's chill away.

Frank leant heavily on his shoulder, even though he was probably perfectly capable to stagger along on his own, tipsy but not drunk. Billy found himself unwilling to protest, instead tucked himself closer against his friend's side. Sure, they fucked. Passionately, even. The things soldiers sometimes did, when they were on base for way too long and found they were into the same shit. Or just desperate enough to try anyway.

There were no feelings involved, right?

Billy liked Castle. Obviously. They had each other’s backs. They ate together, drank together, showered together, sometimes pushed their bunks together at night for additional body heat.

But Billy wasn't the type to just go and be all lovey-dovey with someone, friend or not. Their thing—whatever they should call it—it wasn't anything serious.

Frank had used the r-word, at some point, when they were both fucked out and comfortably exhausted. Bill had still found enough strength to punch him in the fucking face so his lip split and blood spilt over his chin before getting the fuck out.

After that, Frank had never brought the topic up again, and Billy refused to consider the option. The open invitation.

_We could make this an official thing, Bill. Y'know. People are more open to it nowadays, even in the military, to guys bein' in a relationship._

Of course, that had been before Maria and the kids.

But right now, with Castle pressing up against him, trying to match his longer strides with his arm protectively tucked around his waist—that memory was back like the taste of cheap booze in the morning. _This could be official. This could be something only we have._

It was tempting.

Russo stopped so abruptly that Frank almost face-planted, losing his grip on him.

"Jesus, Bill, warn a drunken man before you go doin' somethin' like that," he complained, but he shut up immediately when Billy shushed him not-so-gently with a hand pressed over his mouth, drawing his brows together in confusion.

"I want to leave," Billy admitted quickly, breathlessly, before words might desert him. The furrow of Castles brows deepened. "I—I’ve handed in the papers. This tour, and I'm gone."

The tour had been going on for way too long. The torture. The secrets. Frank was a natural, but Billy could see how it ate him up from the inside every day, in the clench of his jaw and the tenseness of his shoulders. In his dark eyes, sunken, tired.

"I want you to come with me."

Frank stared at him, the arm that had been holding him slowly dropping to his side, pain and guilt etched into his features.

"Bill—I can't, you know that I can't. I've got, I've got Maria, the kids. You love them, right? They're good for me, and for you. We're a family, remember? All of us, the whole weird bunch. A family."

He looked so—helpless. Billy had never seen him like this, when Frank was always so in control, even on the battlefield with bullets zipping past and a howl of unrestrained, white-hot rage on his lips. Never helpless. Never so— _hurt_.

Billy regretted ever opening his mouth.

"Forget it, Frankie."

Hard to take the words back now. Russo turned, again strolling down the alley, Frank's heat just barely lingering on his skin.

"There was a time when I would've said yes without second thought, when I would've fucked off and run to the end of the world with ya," Frank called after him, taking a few steps in his direction before halting.

Russo pulled his shoulders up to his ears, silently fuming. So that's how Frank wanted to play this, pin the blame to him. Deep inside, at the heart of the quiet rage, something small and delicate broke at Frank's careless words.

It was not the first time he pictured shoving a knife into Maria's beautiful happy face again and again until she stopped smiling.

"Whatever happened to 'I don't want what we have to end', Frankie?" Bill spat out the words like venom, lips curled back in a feral snarl. _Push the pain away, cover it in anger, ignore the chain pulling taut around your neck, swallow the hurt down down **down** —_

Frank shook his head, exhausted and confused and disappointed, which he had absolutely no right to be. "But it never ended. This— _us_. Maria knows and tolerates—"

"I don't give a fuck about whether she tolerates it or not!" Russo whipped around, was close enough to grab him by his sweaty shirt within a split second, shoving him back over the cobblestones until he had Frank crowded against the wall. His chest felt too small to contain his heart, fluttering painfully in his ribcage. "You don't belong to her, Frankie. You're mine, you'll always be, and that woman—she’s not gonna change anything about it. Come with me. I'm not gonna ask again."

Castle’s eyes hardened at that, steel piercing right through Billy's skin. He set his jaw, strained against the firm hand planted on his chest, just over his heart, tipsiness all but forgotten. "I love you, Bill. You're my brother. But I'm not gonna leave Maria an' the kids for you. You're too late."

For a moment it looked like Billy would just turn and leave. Every fibre of his body was screaming at him to whirl around and flee, but the invisible strings connecting them kept him rooted on the spot, unable to move his legs.

Then he punched Frank in the face.

Felt, with bubbling satisfaction, how the bone of his nose snapped cleanly, gushing blood over his friend's mouth and chin.

Kissed him while he was gasping and grunting through the pain and shock, kissed him until the blood covered the scruff of his beard and they had to breathe each other in with no oxygen left.

Craved to devour him and create a cage in his chest, to keep him inside forever.

Instead, Billy turned and ran, and the invisible strings connecting them snapped.


End file.
